


Stolen Smiles, Hidden Glances

by emeraldine087



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blind Date, First Meetings, I like you and he likes you too scenario, M/M, Meddling Friends, Meet-Cute, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Romance Comedy, Slight OOC, Steve and Bucky are firefighters, Stony - Freeform, The Author's issues have issues, Tony is not filthy rich, Winteriron - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 15:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10311311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldine087/pseuds/emeraldine087
Summary: This day was proving itself a step above a normal day in the life of Tony Stark—OK, no, maybe not just a step above but a couple thousand leaps and bounds. First, he’d collided with a bad-boy type, brown-haired and blue-eyed hottie while he had his eyes glued to his e-book reader. And now... Tony stared disbelievingly at the note neatly scrawled in block letters on a square of Starbucks environment-friendly tissue paper:Dear Mr. Brown-eyed Reading Enthusiast,Thank you for entertaining me with your blindingly beautiful smiles as I sat here nursing the dregs of my latte for the last twenty minutes while waiting for my friends to show. I didn’t think my day could get any better, but you proved me wrong...How Tony wished he could have gotten the note-writer's name!And they said nerds don’t get the guy. Tony begged to disagree. Because nerds could! Sometimes,twoof them!





	

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of WWW.STEM.ORG's two-year posting/publication date anniversary (because that one is really quite special to me), I decided to write a quick Stuckony in the same vein (but not in the same verse because this is an AU-No powers one) as LOVE OF OURS. Again, unbeta-edited so if you spot typos and issues, give me a holler, a'ight?
> 
> Because we all love it when Tony gets all the lurve... This plot is a bit (just a bit--a teeny tiny bit) based on real life experience. 
> 
> Now I'm off, back to writing the 25th of LOVE OF OURS (when in reality I'd be banging my head against the wall to coax my plot bunnies to produce something half-decent on the LOVE OF OURS front. I've about a paragraph written and it's already fucking Wednesday!!!!).
> 
> Enjoy this short but sweet one, my lovelies! (Officially, this is the shortest fic I've ever written for the MCU-fandom, I know... there's something WRONG with me when my shortest fic is still 7k+ words...) Kudos and Comments are welcome as always! Toodles!  
> \---

It was just another normal day in the uneventful life of Anthony Stark, youngest executive of _Marvel Solutions_ , a big-shot software development and support corporation.

He’d had coding anomalies on pending products to sort out before he’d barely swallowed the first mouthful of his blessed cup of coffee; there were meetings— _lots and lots_ of meetings—with more senior executives on customer service improvement, with his staff on product development, one with marketing regarding a product launch, another with quality assurance on the results of control group testing, yet another with a subdivision of finance regarding his department’s budget. His day was a slew of seemingly never-ending meetings. The day was also a whirlwind of answering phone calls, getting harangued by his assistant, Pepper Potts, on meet-and-greets with potential suppliers, eating a hurried lunch while discussing the pros and cons to infrastructure as code with his ‘science bro’ and second-in-command, Bruce Banner, and assisting their IT in minor reverse engineering of several computer motherboards to bypass a technical glitch they’ve been repeatedly encountering in their servers, which, really, no self-respecting software developer should have to contend with!

It was almost close to five o’clock when Tony finally had a bit of a breather. He was downloading a fresh batch of newly-released e-books to his reader as was his end-of-the-workday habit before going home when he received a text message from his best friend, James Rhodes or Rhodey as Tony had fondly dubbed him.

_Rhodey: <16:52:12> Sam and I have invited some friends for you to meet. Don’t you dare ask for a raincheck on this one, Tones. We’re dying for you to meet them._

Sam Wilson, though relatively a newbie in the FDNY, was quick to ingratiate himself in Rhodey’s good graces. Though Rhodey was already a senior firefighter who’d always thought of himself as a bad-ass that needed no partner or spotter or buddy, or whatever firefighters working closely together were supposed to call themselves, Rhodey took Sam under his wing and quickly became thick as thieves and co-conspirators, not only at work but also when it came to Rhodey’s self-imposed mission to find a love life for his once-a-party-animal-turned-introverted-nerd best friend.

Tony suspected that what won Rhodey over was all of those white chocolate-and-pecan chewy cookies that Sam’s mom always made. Yeah, Tony was certain the cookies had something to do with it…

_Tony: <16:53:02> Stop meddling with my love life, you asshole._

_Rhodey: <16:53:45> What love life, dickhead? Unless your work has finally started sending you flowers and giving you a blowjob under that big-ass table o’yours, then you DON’T have a love life, nerd!_

It hadn’t always been like this. Tony actually used to be the life of the party before… Well— _before_. Rhodey had once accused him of only being the wild child that he was because he was rebelling against his parents, particularly his _father_ , who was a workaholic, control-freak, neglectful assclown of epic proportions. His father’s business partners, on the other hand, were of the opinion that Tony was an attention-seeking, privileged, spoiled brat with entitlement issues a mile wide.

But the truth was: Tony was rudderless and lonely. He didn’t know what he was good for, what his purpose was. So when his father had disinherited him with almost nothing apart from the small allowance that his mother would secretly send him, Tony’s eyes were opened. He found out who his true friends were, and he realized that if he wanted a purpose, it wasn’t going to be handed to him; he was going to have to gather his wits about him and find it himself. So he cleaned up his act and vowed to work his ass off to show his father up and find his niche in the world.

But the disinheritance was actually not the monumental turning point in his life: it was his parents’ deaths shortly thereafter. It was what sealed the deal, so to speak, for Tony to completely leave his partying and petulant childishness behind. The old Tony had died with his parents. Now, he was a changed man. He was responsible and reclusive to a fault, preferring to spend his days at work, being a good worker bee and brainstorming with his staff, and his nights tucked in bed reading a good novel on his reader, or watching Netflix, or surfing the internet looking for a good charity or advocacy to donate money to.

He seldom went out and didn’t find the need to meet new people. He was only maintaining social media to keep abreast of what was happening around him or what new books were there, or what good TV series were there to sink his teeth into. His life wasn’t as action-packed as it used to be—Rhodey might even flat-out call it _boring_ —but, at least, it had purpose. And what was most important was that _he_ , himself, didn’t find his life boring at all.

_Tony: <16:54:10> Ever think about the fact that maybe that’s the way I like it? I like my quiet, simple, uncomplicated life, Rhodey. Who needs a love life anyway?_

_Rhodey: <16:54:39> Fine, FINE. You don’t need a love life, but no man is an island, Tones. You need to meet OTHER PEOPLE! The world is not composed of only you, me, Sam, your e-book reader and your colleagues at Marvel. There’s seven billion other people out there. There’s a whole world out there. JOIN IT, for fuck’s sakes!_

_Tony: <16:55:00> Admit it, you only want me there because you need me to pay for dinner._

_Rhodey: <16:55:19> Well yeah, that too. It’s almost 5. Leave the office on time for a change._

_Tony: <16:55:42> What are you talking about? I always leave on time!_

_Rhodey: <16:56:04> And for God’s sake, don’t read on your reader while walking! Even if you accidentally trip or fall into an open manhole and break something, you’re still not excused from meeting us for dinner tonight!_

_Tony: <16:56:32> I think the politically correct term is ‘utility hole’, heathen!_

_Rhodey: <16:56:51> Who gives a shit?! The ones we want you to meet are both off-duty today. Wait for us in our favorite SB. They’re meeting us there._

_Tony: <16:57:03> We have a favorite SB?!?!?! You only like that branch because of that redhead that Sam always checks out._

_Rhodey: <16:57:16> What… she’s generous with the whipped cream. Dude, you better be shutting your computer down already…_

_Tony: <16:57:33> Alright, alright! Don’t get your panties in a twist! BTW, what do your mates look like and what are their names just in case they arrive before you and Sam do?_

_Rhodey <16:58:00> Their names are Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. They’re new transfers from 118. And you don’t need to ask what they look like. You’ll know because they’re exactly your type._

_Tony <16:58:09> Wait… I HAVE A TYPE?!?!?!_

Tony tittered to himself as he dismounted his reader from the computer port and shut his machine down. Tony had a feeling Rhodey wouldn’t be in a hurry to reply to that last message because he’d be clued in that his friend was baiting him. And he wouldn’t be wrong. Tony liked messing with Rhodey. Messing with Rhodey was his favorite, favorite sport. Raking a hand through his wavy and already tousled brown-black hair, Tony slung his messenger bag over his head and grabbed his reader from the table.

A book he’d been waiting for for the longest time had just come out and Tony was excited to make some headway with it. Chances were, he’d be waiting for Rhodey and Sam for quite some time anyway. Firing up his reader, Tony flicked his thumb on the touch screen and selected the book’s icon.

What Rhodey didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

==========

Bucky Barnes was such a colossal idiot. He couldn’t believe that after checking and double checking the state of his clothes, his appearance, if he had breath mints and his handkerchief in his pocket, he’d left the apartment he was sharing with his childhood best friend and colleague in the FDNY, and forgotten his phone on the console table nearest the front door.

He was already around a third of the way to the Starbucks where he was supposed to meet his colleagues and their friend, when he realized that he was missing the usual lump that was his phone in the back pocket of his jeans.

Cursing his stupidity, he turned on his heels to trudge his way back to the apartment that he and his friend had just moved into when their transfer from their Ladder Company in Brooklyn to Manhattan was finalized. Now, instead of possibly making an impression by being diligently early, Bucky was running late. And he also had to contend with the mass of bodies pouring into the streets to get home now that the workday was done.

He should have just accompanied Steve when the latter left their apartment earlier that day for his stint volunteering at the nearby preschool to oversee toddlers doing art. But Bucky saw it fit to stay behind and try to put a semblance of order in their new living space. Besides, Bucky didn’t know art if it bit him in the butt cheek.

Steve Rogers was Bucky’s best and oldest friend. The two of them had grown up together, turning the back alleys of Brooklyn into a playground. They went to grade school, middle school and high school together before Steve went off to art school by himself and Bucky started to train as a volunteer firefighter.

Bucky had thought that that was it—the parting of the ways between Stevie and himself until fate threw them together again when barely a year later, 9/11 happened, and Bucky, then a young firefighter-in-training, was gravely injured while responding to the many, many fires and minor explosions near ground zero.

That was actually the _least_ of it. Because it was also then that Steve’s mother, his last living parent since his father had died of COPD when he was still in grade school, passed away when debris from the collapse of the second tower of the World Trade Center structurally damaged 5 World Trade Center where the clinic where Mrs. Rogers worked was located.

Steve had stopped going to art school then and decided to find a job to support himself. He’d caught up with Bucky’s training in the FDNY because the latter was benched to give him time to recuperate from nearly losing his left arm.

Just like when they were little, Bucky and Steve were inseparable again, and the rest, as they always say, was history. Now, they were both fully trained firefighters, each with over fifteen years of experience. They were about to embark on another journey together, having made their most recent career move away from their beloved Brooklyn to the concrete jungle that was Manhattan.

They both wanted it—the transfer, and they’ve been on the job for a little over two weeks, bunking in the station while they looked for an apartment. They were enjoying themselves so far, getting to know their new brothers-in-arms. In fact, they’ve already gotten quite close to two of their new colleagues: Sam Wilson and Jim Rhodes.

It was Sam and Jim and their friend that Bucky and Steve were meeting for dinner that night.

The pavements were crawling with people by the time Bucky got back out from their apartment, now armed with his phone. As he expected, there were about five missed calls and three messages from Steve, each more alarmed and demanding than the last:

_Stevie: <16:40:12> I’m on my way to the Starbucks where we’re supposed to meet S, J and their friend. Are you on your way?_

_Stevie: <16:47:18> Get your bony ass out of the shower, Buck. It’s quite a walk from the apartment. You better be on your way._

_Stevie: <17:00:40> Why are you not answering?! Did you fall asleep?_

He was psyching himself up to answer Steve with a text, at least, when he’d caught a red light at a crossing, when something, or rather some _body_ , collided against his right side from behind. Bucky looked away from his phone and turned with every intention to give the person a piece of his mind but found himself at a loss for sass when his eyes fell upon the one who’d collided with him.

“’m sorry,” mumbled the guy with a quick glance that was barely there at Bucky. It was because the guy was engrossed in one of them tablets or electronic readers, his head studiously bowed towards the screen. But even so, Bucky didn’t fail to notice that the guy was a looker.

When Mr. Bookworm smirked, presumably at something amusing in his reading material, Bucky did a double take. The guy was freaking _gorgeous_ , all right—all stylishly tousled brown-black hair, long eyelashes, aquiline nose with a dimpled tip, well-defined cheekbones, full lips bordered by a meticulously-maintained van dyke, soft jaw and fair neck. He could very well be a print-ad or billboard model with the way those clothes hung on that lean but sinewy body, too. Except that Mr. Bookworm didn’t seem all that self-aware that he was a fucking knock-out, so no, he probably wasn’t a model, but a white-collar just like most of the people in that neighborhood.

But, _damn_! The guy was hot. He was just Bucky’s type, too. Oh if only he could look up and at Bucky so he’d know what color eyes Mr. Bookworm has. If he has _dark eyes_ , Bucky was going to stalk him until he’d have found out where Mr. Bookworm lived. Because, really, with long lashes like those—if those framed _dark eyes_ , Bucky was going to ditch Steve and dinner and hang out right underneath this guy’s apartment window like fucking Romeo Montague!

When the crossing light turned green, Bucky rushed after Mr. Bookworm, keeping to within three paces at the attractive man’s eight o’clock. He knew this was being stalker-y, but Bucky couldn’t care less. He was going to find out what color eyes this man has and where he lived before making his way to the Starbucks where Steve was already probably waiting.

Despite the flood of people walking with them, Mr. Bookworm didn’t, not once, look up from his e-reader. Bucky now confirmed it was an e-book reader because Bucky could clearly see nothing but lines upon lines of words on the barely-backlit screen. Looking at Mr. Bookworm’s profile, however, Bucky was treated to several amused lip purses, two smirks, and one outright (and fucking brilliant) smile from the man.

That must be one _helluva_ book!

Now, Bucky was not much of a reader. He’d read a lot while he was recovering from his injury because there wasn’t all that much to do with just the one arm _but_ read. He liked sports, though, and playing the guitar, and cooking, and any outdoorsy activity. But for Mr. Bookworm, here? Bucky would read a 24-volume encyclopedia all day, every day…

If he’d just smile like that _at_ Bucky, Bucky’d do fucking anything!

There was something about Mr. Bookworm that just…hooked him and refused to let go. God, he had to know this guy’s name. And his mobile number. Yeah…

Bucky was so intent on following Mr. Bookworm that he hadn’t even noticed that he was already veering away from where their meeting place was supposed to be. But had he not already decided to ditch Steve for a while? At least until he’d found out where Mr. Bookworm was headed.

He was close at the other guy’s heels when, looking up, the latter seemed to realize where he was and that it wasn’t where he intended to go, and he abruptly pivoted and changed direction, running right into Bucky.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” Mr. Bookworm said, finally, _finally_ looking up into Bucky’s face. And Bucky’s gray-blue eyes met russet brown ones, dramatically lined with long, lush and dark lashes.

Bucky wanted to sing odes to those brown eyes.

“I’m—I’m sorry, too. I should have been looking where I was going.” Instead of trying to watch you like a creepy creeper who likes to creep, was left unspoken. Bucky didn’t want to scare Mr. Brown-eyed Bookworm after all; he didn’t know his name yet.

“No, I—uh—it’s _my_ fault. Who reads while traversing the sidewalks of midtown Manhattan during rush hour anyway, right? My friend warned me about this.”

He actually looked more gorgeous, all apologetic-like, that Bucky momentarily forgot that he was supposed to say something back if he wanted to stretch this interaction longer. “Must be a really gripping book then,” he remarked with a thin-lipped smile.

“Yeah, kinda been waiting for this book’s release for the longest time,” Mr. Bookworm said. “Do you like reading, too?”

 _‘For you, gorgeous, I’d read the fucking phone book cover to cover,’_ Bucky wanted to answer just to see if he could pull off flirting with someone as intellectual as Mr. Bookworm probably was. Everyone who enjoyed reading usually was. But he held himself back. “When I have time to, I enjoy it. So…will you recommend the book you’re reading to me then?”

“Sure. It’s a funny one. If you like that sort of thing,” said the brown-eyed guy.

“For me, those’re the best kind.” What—they _were_! Especially if they could make Mr. Bookworm smile like he had been doing, then those kinds of books were absolute treasures. “I’m James, by the way.” Well, James _was_ his birth name. And _Bucky_ sounded childish and _unsexy_ if he were to blurt that out as his name. And what if Mr. Bookworm had an elegant name or something? Like… _Adrian_ or _Sebastian_ , maybe?

“Tony,” Mr. Bookworm said, shifting his e-reader and the strap of his messenger bag so as to offer his hand for Bucky to shake. “Well, I’m sorry again for bulldozing into you like that. I realized I was off course. I’m supposed to meet someone and I’m already running late. The last thing I need is to get lost, too.”

“It’s all right, Tony. Don’t worry about it,” Bucky assured, feeling sheepish all of a sudden. _Tony_ —Bucky was right in that it was a good name, too—wouldn’t have run into him if he weren’t trying to keep so close to the other brunet anyway.

“Er, yeah well—it was nice to meet you, James. I’ll, uh, go ahead,” Tony said with a gesture that he was to go on along his way.

“The pleasure is all mine… _Tony_ ,” Bucky said with a salute and a smile of his own. He couldn’t help but let the name flow from his tongue as it did. It was a _damn_ awesome name and it sounded hella-sexy when said in Bucky’s gravelly voice. As if Bucky was meant to say it several million times every day for the foreseeable future. As if Bucky was meant to say it in the throes of lovemaking every night for the rest of his life.

He watched as Tony walked away from him, widening the gap between them. And Bucky felt his gut clench. He thought there was a real hit-by-a-lightning-moment right there. What was he supposed to do now?

Licking his lips and looking around him at all the others walking past him, he turned towards the direction where Tony had gone again and bit his lower lip, internally debating with himself whether or not to hurry after Tony and thinking: _if Tony turns to look back at me, that’s it—I’m following him. I don’t care if he’s meeting his wife and children. If he looks back at me, then he’s felt it, too—that instantaneous connection. Steve, Jim and Sam can kiss my ass, too, if I don’t show up for dinner tonight…_     

Bucky closed his hands into fists at his sides and silently willed the cosmos to send Tony a message to turn and look back at him. Or a sign— _any sign_ , really—that he’s felt something, too.

And like an answered prayer, Bucky watched as Tony ever so slightly turned to steal a glance back at the brunet he’s left behind and gave a casual nod and reserved wave of his hand. Bucky might have just imagined, too, but he thought Tony’s sexy, dark eyes smoldered as if in silent acknowledgment of the electric current they’d shared when they collided into each other.

“Hell yeah,” Bucky murmured under his breath and sprinted after the other brunet, his feet light.

Lucky, too, because Tony was headed in the general direction of the Starbucks where he was supposed to meet Steve. Maybe, Bucky could shoot Steve a message to meet him in the curb outside for a quick explanation as to why he was ditching them and dinner? Bucky toyed with the idea. Somehow, he didn’t think the _‘I ran into my soulmate’_ explanation was going to sit well with Steve.

“Think of it this way, Stevie. If you happen to like the guy that Jim and Sam wanted to introduce to us, you won’t have me to compete with,” practiced Bucky under his breath while he hurried along quite a ways from Tony’s bowed head, no doubt still reading the funny book on his reader. “Because let’s face it, you have no chance against me when I turn the charm on. So I’m actually doing you a solid here, pal,” he continued to rehearse. Yeah, that sounded about right. He just wouldn’t give Steve a chance to get a word in edgewise.

Bucky was so focused on trying to keep Tony’s brunet head within his sights that he didn’t notice a bike messenger wiz past him, clipping him on the left forearm. Not that the injury still hurt because he’s had a lot of time to recuperate and rehabilitate the injury, but it still distracted him. “Hey watch it, asshole!” Bucky spat, irritated.

But the damage was already done because when he turned back to the direction where Tony was walking towards not a moment ago, Tony-aka-Mr. Bookworm was gone.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Bucky cursed under his breath. Where could his destiny have gone? There were a number of cafés and restaurants along that path that Mr. Bookworm could have snuck into, one of the cafés there was in fact the Starbucks where Steve would be waiting. “Oh no…” Bucky lamented, dejectedly turning this way and that to try to catch another glimpse of that now-familiar brunet head. “No, no, no…”

His lamentation was interrupted by the trilling of his phone in his back pocket.

“Yeah?” Bucky barked into the phone.

“Where the devil are you, Bucky?” Steve hissed on the line. Judging by the ambient sounds coming from Steve’s end of the phone line, the latter was already in Starbucks.

“I’m…twenty meters away. Hold your horses, Steve. Are they already there?”

“Jim texted and said that his friend is already on his way. He and Sam got held up at the station but they’ll burn rubber to get here by 5:45,” Steve relayed. “We have a problem, I forgot to grab a token—“

“—a _what_?!”

“A gift for the friend they’d be introducing to us. It’s common courtesy to get a new friend something like, uh, like a _Nice-To-Meet-You token_ or something,” Steve explained. “I was able to snag a really nice table here and if I leave here for just a second, I’m sure someone would take it not a moment after I lift my butt off the seat cushion. _You’re_ going to have to rush to the specialty store at the end of this block to grab something for Jim and Sam’s friend since you’re still out there anyway. I’ll wait here and keep an eye out for their friend.”

Bucky grumbled his displeasure, but realizing that he could use the time to try to sneak a peek at all the cafés down the path to see where Tony could have gone, he changed tack, “fine, fine—I’ll grab something. But _you’re_ paying me back for it.”

“Be sure to grab something _decent_. I ain’t paying you back for something _tacky_ as hell—“

“—you didn’t just _question my taste_ , did you, punk? Because I have _impeccable taste_ , just so you know. If anyone between the two of us is _tacky_ , that’d be _you_ , Stevie or have you forgotten which one of us still wears _plaid shirts_?” Bucky bantered back with a chortle.

“Leave the contents of my closet out of it, Buck,” mock-threatened Steve. “Just grab a nice designer notepad which he can take to work or a magnetized notepad for his fridge or something. And hurry back, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky answered. “If their friend gets there soon, try not to bore him to death before I arrive, yeah?”

He had time to try to find Tony.

==========

Steve Rogers had never been a big fan of crowds for several reasons.

He had been a rather sickly child and crowds were a cesspool of bacteria and virus that could very well cause a week-long stay in hospital, if he was lucky or outright kill him, if he was unlucky. Luckily, Steve’s mom, Sarah Rogers, had been a nurse—a damn good one at that—and she made sure that he pulled through to see his much-needed growth spurt and his high school graduation. It was too bad that Sarah had died during 9/11, leaving Steve an orphan, before she could see her son graduate from art school, which had always been his life-long dream.

Without his mother’s emotional and financial support, Steve had to stop going to art school in favor of gainful employment, and it sent his path crossing his childhood best friend’s again. Bucky, Steve’s oldest and best friend, was a firefighter-in-training during the time that Steve was looking for employment so he wouldn’t starve to death. And Bucky had readily helped Steve for them to become the formidable firefighting duo that they were now.

Another reason that Steve was uncomfortable in crowds was because he was actually shy and introverted. He was hardly a social butterfly; he wasn’t even a social _caterpillar_. He spent his days working and, during his off days, he liked to volunteer to teach art to toddlers or grade-schoolers. Now, while teaching required a certain amount of socialization which Steve had never been good at, he taught _art_ and it was something that Steve had always loved even after giving up art school. So, the art aspect cancelled out the socialization aspect, and Steve thought it wasn’t that bad. He actually enjoyed it. It made for a breath of fresh air from always having to put his life on the line, putting out fires.

Not that he didn’t love the job that had put food in his belly and clothes on his back, he’s learned to be passionate about being part of New York’s Bravest. He got to save lives and property and, for Steve, there was no greater satisfaction than that. Sure, it was occasionally—all right, _frequently_ —life-threatening, but the job challenged him both physically and intellectually.

He enjoyed drawing, particularly drawing _mazes_ , high-detail sceneries and portraits, playing chess and strategy-oriented video games, reading mysteries and detective stories, watching TV series and movies with a similar nature. Also, he liked running, boxing training, and weight-lifting—all of which were physical exercises which could be undertaken _alone_.

It wasn’t that he was a loner, because, really, he wouldn’t have opted to share a living space with someone as crazy, noisy, spirited and _exasperating_ as Bucky was if Steve were a loner. But Steve was more inclined towards one-on-one interactions, smaller groups of friends, and none of this buzzing, laughing and chattering all at once around him.

“Stop overthinking things and withdrawing into yourself, Stevie, or people will think you’re anti-social or, worse, _psychotic_ ,” Bucky had advised him numerous times in the course of their friendship.

Steve always disagreed: “it’s perfectly normal to be _introspective_. We can’t all be like you who can bisect a damn _monastery_ and come out the other side with threats of death being screamed at you, a restraining order against you for flashing a nun, and a _date_ scheduled for the next day! Some of us have got a brain-to-mouth filter that actually works.”

“You know I didn’t mean to flash Sister Agnes—that was an _accident_!”

God, Jim and Sam’s friend had better get here soon or he was going to shred each and every table napkin neatly folded in a holder atop the table he had appropriated for their party. Crowds really made him antsy.

But having to forage for something half-intelligent to discuss with an absolute stranger was just as unpalatable for Steve. He was in a real quandary here.

He couldn’t strike down Jim and Sam’s enthusiasm, though, when they urged him and Bucky to go meet them for dinner and meet their friend, who was supposed to be a real nice guy and who they’ve been trying to coax into dating someone for the longest time. Both Bucky and Steve were currently single and ready to mingle—or well, Steve’s readiness to _mingle_ was questionable at best—but he was _curious_ about Jim and Sam’s friend, so he’d agreed to dinner, swallowing his apprehension, when Bucky’d said yes, too.

Sighing, Steve fished for his phone and was about to compose a text message for Bucky, asking about the status of purchasing a token a for their new friend, when the just-vacated, small table adjacent to Steve’s was aggressively snagged by someone, slamming a Venti drink and a tablet on the table and hurriedly parking his bottom on the cushioned seat.

Steve shrugged with a slight shake of his head. These coffee-chugging yuppies were the absolute worst. Steve never liked spending too much time in these designer coffee places. He had always been of the opinion that these places were only for buying a good cup of coffee and nothing more. Steve figured that if he wanted to _‘hang out’_ , then what better place was there than at _home_?

 _Maybe_ he really _was_ anti-social after all…

Steve turned his attention back to his phone and typed:

_Steve Rogers: <17:20:47> Friend’s still not here. Were you able to get something already?_

Steve distractedly tapped the edge of his phone against the table top and looked around the café packed with post-workday hangers-on. He could probably nurse his Tall cup of latte for twenty more minutes before he’d be sucking on air. Where _was_ Jim and Sam’s friend? Shouldn’t he already be here by now?

He was still casually studying the people around him when his eyes fell on the person who had, not five minutes ago, aggressively seized the adjacent table. The guy’s head was bowed towards his tablet; he was completely unmindful of the noisy chattering and laughing around him as his attention was commanded by what was on his tablet’s screen.

OK, so the guy wasn’t half-bad looking. Steve watched as the guy cocked his head at an angle, still engrossed in what he was reading, and realized that—wait—actually the guy wasn’t simply decent-looking but, _wow_ —OK, he was _really_ good looking.

What made him even more eye-catching for Steve was the fact that he seemed completely oblivious to _how_ good looking he was exactly. He wasn’t even trying to catch anyone’s eye or giving anyone the smoldering come-hither look that was what hanging out in these cafés were good for. He was just… _there_. Gripped by whatever the hell it was on that tablet’s screen.

Steve found himself fighting down his own amusement when he’d caught the guy snickering because of what he was reading. The guy, then, seemed to self-consciously realize that he was snickering, and, surreptitiously looking around, attempted to school his face into a deadpan expression.

Steve couldn’t help but find it adorable.

As was the guy’s sexily windswept dark brown head of hair, playful brown eyes, elegant cheekbones, delectable lips pursed into a half-smirk still, and low-key but confident carriage.

The other man wasn’t even doing anything remotely interesting but read from his tablet and yet Steve couldn’t, for the life of him, take his eyes off the brunet. He watched from out of the corner of his eyes as thrice more, the attractive brunet smiled because of what he was reading and looked around, pursing his lips, to check that he wasn’t being ogled at like a crazy person.

The blond, blue-eyed anti-social suddenly had the fiercest hankering to know the cute brunet’s name and what the devil it was he was reading because, _damn_ … It must be friggin’ awesome to make the latter smile so appealingly like that.

So as not to look guiltily like he was checking the brunet out like a depraved creep, Steve plucked a square of table napkin from the holder and his pen from the inside breast pocket of the jacket he had hastily thrown on that morning, and started to write:

_Dear Mr. Brown-eyed Reading Enthusiast,_

_That must be really interesting reading material you have there. Thank you for entertaining me with your blindingly beautiful smiles as I sat here nursing the dregs of my latte for the last twenty minutes while waiting for my friends to show. I didn’t think my day could get any better, but you proved me wrong. I don’t usually do this because I’m real shy, but I’ve never wanted to know a person’s name (and what they’re reading) more than I do now. I hope you don’t think I’m too forward and you might not even swing that way, but regardless. I just want you to know that you’re a breath of fresh air compared to the other posers in this joint._

_Sincerely, the blond, blue-eyed wallflower on the table next to yours_

He was considering how to toss the napkin towards the adjacent table without offending its occupant when his phone trilled with an incoming text message. Right now, he was of two minds if he wanted it to be from Bucky saying he was on his way or if he wanted it to be from Jim or Sam saying they were going to have to cancel the dinner because their friend got cold feet.

The text turned out to be from Jim:

_Jim Rhodes: <17:50:01> We’re in the all-night diner one block over. Can’t find a parking space in that block. SB looked crazy full when we drove by. Is Bucky with you? If not, will text Bucky and Tony, too, to meet in the diner instead, then we can decide where to get dinner._

Tony must be the name of their friend. Well—never let it be said that Steve Rogers was not a man of his word… Steve tossed the rest of his long-since-gone-cold latte and prepared to get up and relinquish the table to the rest of the coffee-drinking vultures who were no doubt circling around it and waiting for him to beat it.

Stealing a glance at the brown-eyed cutie on the adjacent table who was still raptly caught up in what he was reading, Steve debated with himself whether or not to leave the other man the note he’d composed anyway. They may never run into each other again—Manhattan was, after all, _not_ a small borough and NYC was one of the most populated cities in the world—but the blond just really wanted the other man to know that he’d made Steve’s day.

When the other man leaned away from Steve and bent a bit under the table to root around in the messenger bag that he’d tossed on the seat across from him, the blond seized the window of opportunity to gingerly place the neatly-folded table napkin beside the guy’s—ah so, it wasn’t a tablet, but an _e-book reader_ , and he was reading an e-book—as he was standing up to leave.

Steve looked over his shoulder once more as he was stepping out of the café to stare his fill of the back of this coffee-drinking, secretly smiling angel’s head, and hoped—even though he knew it was next to impossible—that Steve could see him again and find out what his name was.

==========

This day was proving itself a step above a normal day in the life of Tony Stark—OK, no maybe not just a _step_ above but a couple thousand leaps and bounds. First, he’d collided with a bad-boy type, brown-haired and blue-eyed _hottie_ while he had his eyes glued to the book the release of which he’d been waiting a long time for. And now this…

Tony stared disbelievingly at the note neatly scrawled in block letters on a square of Starbucks environment-friendly tissue paper. He remembered catching an eyeful of the person who occupied the table adjacent to his and restrained himself from staring—because staring was _rude_ —even though the guy was without a shadow of a doubt worthy of being stared at. Tony remembered the neatly coiffed blond hair and bright blue eyes and sexy denim jacket and the James Dean-slash-Leonardo DiCaprio (poor, struggling artist getting on the Titanic out of sheer dumb luck) vibe about him. But what really got Tony hot under the collar were the man’s full and red lips, no doubt due to his habit of biting and chewing on it, which Tony couldn’t stop himself from noticing—no, he wasn’t _staring_ ; he just _noticed_ it because Tony was observant like that.

Lower lip biting was a tell-tale indication of discomfort in a situation, insecurity and shyness. And Denim Jacket did admit to being shy and wallflower-y in his note. Then again, lip biting was also a sign of _flirting_. Denim Jacket _was_ probably flirting but since he didn’t know how to be forward about it and he probably thought Tony was too occupied with his book, the blond didn’t act on it and just kept worrying his lip.

Hot _damn_ …

Apparently, Rhodey was right—he _has_ a type! He was equally attracted to go-getter, smoldering types and to quiet and awkward types! And bright blue eyes with broad shoulders and an All-American quality about them—and they give off the police detective, peace keeper vibe as well, or whatever job involved the use of their hands and their rippling biceps and triceps.

This was _unbelievable_. He’d once gone a whole month without finding anyone the least bit attractive to even merit a double take but today, there were two! _Two guys in one day_ and both of them had shown some kind of interest in him, too! Two gorgeous men in one day!

And he hasn’t even gone to the supposed dinner/blind date arranged by his meddling friends yet, and his day was already turning out to be one helluva day already!

He gathered his wits about him and finally got his legs strong enough to stand up from his booth to leave and go to the diner one block over as Rhodey instructed. He’d needed time after finding the note beside his reader to fully comprehend what it meant and to dial down the heat spreading up his neck to his face. He was fucking flattered, all right. And who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t be flattered but a complete stone-cold, homophobic asshat?

Jesus, Tony should have run out of the Starbucks after him, Denim Jacket, if only to know his name. At least, Tony’d found out James’ name which was about as helpful as finding a particular grain of sand on the beach. But Tony hadn’t even found out Denim Jacket’s name—why had he not left his name on his note, _why_?! How was Tony going to find a starting point to stalk Denim Jacket now?

Tony supposed it was a nice, ego-inflating moment while it lasted. But he had to go back to reality now. It was time to haul ass and meet Sam and Jim and their colleagues, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

Tony tucked his reader on the flap pocket of his messenger bag and half-sprinted towards the diner. He was nearly out of breath when he stepped over the threshold, looking for where Sam and Rhodey were at.

Rhodey, who was seated beside Sam and facing the diner’s entrance, motioned for Tony to approach so formal introductions could be made. There were two others in the booth with them, both of whom had their backs towards the door.

“Oh good, you’re finally here. Tony—I’d like to introduce Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes,” Rhodey, standing up, gestured towards the two men when Tony made his way to the table. “Guys, this is my best friend, Tony Stark.”

If Tony had been a lesser man, he would’ve definitely swallowed his tongue and maybe hacked up a lung in the process. The two men he had just been introduced to fared no better it seemed: the blond—Steve or Denim Jacket to Tony, blinked owlishly at him while the brunet—Bucky or James as he’d introduced himself to Tony when the latter bumped into him, gave a perceptible start.

“Tony.” Standing up, like a real gentleman, it was Steve who’d said that as if he was trying out how the name rolled off his furiously-chewed lips.

“It’s awesome to meet you, fellas,” Tony said, welcomingly and finding that he meant every syllable of that. To show how pleased he was, he offered his hand for the two men to take in turns. “Steve. _Bucky_.”

“That’s my _nickname_. But my birth name is James—just like Jimmy here,” explained the other brunet, standing up as well as he shook Tony’s hand. “And it’s our genuine pleasure, ain’t that right, Stevie?” Bucky looked at Tony with those smoldering half-lidded eyes and licked his lips.

Steve, for his part, smiled shyly at Tony. “It is. By the way, this is for you,” said Steve, holding out a paper bag. “A…token.”

“ _I_ was the one who picked that one out,” Bucky interjected with a lop-sided grin. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Whoever said the nerds don’t get the guy should get a reality check. Because nerds could! Sometimes, _two_ of them! “Erm, thank you then. I’m sure I will.

“So, have you guys decided where we’re eating? I’m feeling generous tonight, so dinner’s on me—in honor of meeting two American heroes right here. And new friends,” Tony offered with a smile that he didn’t even have to fake. Not in the slightest.

He stole a quick glance at both Bucky and Steve and chortled inwardly. And he’d thought his night was over. When, in fact, it was only just beginning.

It was only just beginning.

 

 

**=====FIN=====**


End file.
